


Eternal winter.

by theKaddy



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath, Canonical Character Death, Description of the symptoms of Hypothermia, Hypothermia, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I cant believe Tommy is dead, Nature, Snow and Ice, Spoiler for the DreamSMP, Suicide, Tubbo is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theKaddy/pseuds/theKaddy
Summary: "The tundra laid still in the eternal winter. Spruce trees covered with white snow, giving the landscape a lasting feeling of Christmas. The floor covered in snow and ice, a white blanket muffling all sounds, only disturbed by the occasional print of paws - even though you will never see the white-furred culprits."Tommy is dead and Tubbo is running in the snow.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	Eternal winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, something angsty in the lore happened! so here i am!  
> Please be careful reading these work if you have problems with the themes suicide, hypothermia.  
> the description of the symptoms are a little bit more graphic than in my other works.  
> if you look for something comforting you should check out my work "This feeling."

The tundra laid still in the eternal winter. Spruce trees covered with white snow, giving the landscape a lasting feeling of Christmas. The floor covered in snow and ice, a white blanket muffling all sounds, only disturbed by the occasional print of paws - even though you will never see the white-furred culprits.  
  
Not far away from the tundra, hidden in a small bay of the cold sea, was a village, a self-proclaimed commune, a safe haven for everyone. Built by a boy, barely a young man, to be home, someplace nobody could steal from him, someplace nobody could destroy. He made sure of it. But even though the commune was not far away from the tundra, it seemed untouched, uncivilised.  
The young man ran, leaving his safe haven, his home behind him. Almost forgetting about it when he passed a frozen lake, fish forever drowned in ice. Footprints revealing the path of the boy for only a few minutes, before fading away, covered by a new coat of snow. Another tree ring of ice conserving history. The boy did not stop running.  
  
Breathing in the cold air lead to a burning pain in his throat. Snowflakes were caught in his hair, in his lashes and in his nose. Only to be ignored by the boy, who still ran. His clothing was unfitting for the winter, his shoes were already soaked. But that did not stop him.  
  
Nothing seemed to stop him, he passes every natural obstacle, jumping over dead trees, climbing the small rocks, leaping over petrified creeks. He was the prey of something invisible hunting him and his only chance of survival was running, hoping to outrun the non-existing predator. While his legs complained a few minutes after leaving Snowchester, they now seemed to be numbed, he could not tell if it was from the coldness or from the running. He did not care.  
  
For the tundra, the boy was not more than a fox rushing through its land, a blink of an eye, forgotten as soon as it was over. No traces left, no one watching. Nature was older than the boy, so much older, it learned to not care. It learned not to care about humans and their small problems. It let them pass by, not bothered with stopping them, not bothered with writing history. So the tundra did not stop the boy. It let him pass by.  
  
Eventually, the boy needed to stop. His fingers and lips turned blue, threatening to burst open. There was no colour in his face, besides the blue of his lips. Even the colour of his eyes faded away. He was pale as a snowman, on the verge of freezing and become one, fake smile forever frozen onto his face.  
  
An agonizing scream echoed through the land, disrupting the everlasting peace of nature. Tubbo did not realize he was the one screaming.  
  
His legs were trembling, barely able to hold his weight. He lost count of how far he ran. Too far out to go back, not that he needed to. There was no place for him anymore, no place to call home, no place to go back to.  
  
His eyes fell shut. He just wants to breathe, just wants to get rid of the sharp pain in his throat.  
  
Was that how Tommy felt? Was there a sharp pain in his throat when Dream decided to kill him? Did he felt the panic rising in his body just like Tubbo did at that very moment? Did he fight or let it happened? Of course, he fought, Tommy always fought back. He always was the stronger of the two, the more courageous one.  
  
But Tubbo wasn't dying, not yet. There was still life in his pale body, there was still something fighting in him.  
  
He fell to his knees, finally allowing his legs some kind of rest. Cold snow was soaking his trousers, leaving a dark, big spot.  
  
It was hard, his fingers being stiff and cold, but he managed to get the small compass out of his shirt, where it was hidden, on a nondescript chain. While his friend was in exile he spent hours looking at it, carefully watching the red needle moving.  
  
The needle did not move anymore, it was broken, following gravity, laying diagonally through the circle. It was hard to see, the glass shattered. He was dead, truly dead, once and for all. Tubbo ran his thumb over the broken glass, not caring about the splinters, leaving small, bloody traces on the glass.  
  
He lowered his hand with the compass, not being able to look at it for longer. A reminder of the reality he tried to ran away from.  
  
The coldness from his knees spread through his whole body.  
  
They lost. The realization hit him in the face, like the cold wind.  
  
They have lost, after everything they went through, they lost.  
  
All their sacrifices, their nation, their items, even their lives were useless in the end.  
  
It was unfair.  
  
And he screamed that out loud, into the tundra. Only for it to be silent, giving him no answer. Not caring he was there, not caring that it will be the reason for his death. It was waiting for the moment to pass by, waiting to coat it with a fresh layer of snow, forgetting about it, forgetting about him and his pain.  
  
The pain in his throat was overshadowed by the ache in his heart. Tubbo felt incomplete like something was missing from him. He knew exactly what was missing. His heart seemed to beat less, skipping more and more beats. He did not care.  
  
His head was heavy and he laid down, huddled together like a fetus. His shirt was completely wet. But he did not care.  
  
He remembered the warm sun on his skin, he was walking across the DreamSMP, Tommy by his side, talking about something irrelevant. Tommy's hair looked golden in the sun and if Tubbo could move his arm, he would be able to touch it, to feel the warm, soft locks underneath his fingertips. Tommy would laugh and slap his hand away, after waiting just a moment too long, to make sure Tubbo was okay. He would laugh, call him an idiot. Tubbo misses his laughter.  
  
He wondered if the cell was cold. Wondered if his best friend felt coldness all around him when he took his last breath, looking in the face of his enemy.  
  
Breathing was hard, less and less air flowed into his lungs, his breathing was short and irregular.  
  
Suddenly the coldness was replaced with warmth, fire spreading through his veins, sweat forming on his forehead.  
  
He opened his eyes, looking into the white sky, the sun was blinding him. He enjoyed the heat around him, the snow was a soft blanket surrounding him. It was a good friend, petting his back in a supportive way, comforting him.  
  
The tundra laid still in the eternal winter. The floor covered in snow and ice, a white blanket muffling all sounds, only disturbed by a small boy - laying on his back, starring with forever open eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are pogchamp


End file.
